In Peace, Healing
by Hahren Jezek
Summary: " 'Sometimes I worry about what's inside. Whether it's full of something bad or just empty. Not sure what's worse.' The words come slowly and stuttered, a garbled mess of intentions and effort. " - A post-inquisition story of Bethany Hawke and Blackwall coming together and healing wounds unseen.
1. Chapter 1 - Warden Recruit

**A/N - I wanted a project that wasn't as dark as my other current ones, so I pushed Blackwall and Bethany together and things happened. I wanna thank Orangeflavor for always being there to chase Plot Bunnies with me. Go check out her stuff, she's awesome.**

* * *

**Chapter One: Warden Recruit**

_The air crushes in around her, and all she sees is the twinkling, laughing glimmer in Daveth's eyes._

_"Come on, Sweetheart. It's time," he leans towards her on his knees. His fists rest on top of his knees, and the corners of his mouth begin to tug up into a small smile. Bethany's hands tremble and her chest heaves. Blood magic is wrong. She knows this is wrong. She knows_ they _are wrong. Dark eyes shut tightly and squeeze thin rivers of tears from their lids._

_He sees her hesitate and lunges forward to grab her wrist, jerking it to force her to look down at him._

_"Remember what I told you," Daveth says. His brows lower and the muscles at the corners of his jaws clench down. She does not struggle to get free of his grasp, but Bethany shakes her head with a straining whimper. His grip tightens painfully._

_"Remember it," he insists, pushing her hand back to her, "Remember what I said."_

_Bethany's breaths come in quick, rapid pants as she feels magic in the air around her, raising the small hairs on the backs of her arms as it seeps into her skin, feeding off of her power and growing stronger… and darker. The tip of the blade slides down the length of her palm to leave a tick, oozing trail of blood seeping out in its wake. She steps forward and covers the majority of his face with her hand, holding the blade flush against his scruffy, scarred neck._

_He winks up at her._

_She cuts his throat._

* * *

Her blankets are soaked with sweat as Bethany lurches up in her chambers. Her mouth is sticky and raw and tastes of blood. For long minutes, she sits and stares down at the outline of her legs beneath her covers. When her hands stop shaking, Bethany struggles to get out of bed. Bare feet touch the cold stone floors, and the dark haired woman makes her way to the window. She pushes it open and leans her head out into the early morning air, trying to draw herself back to the present. Bethany opens her eyes and peers down through the pass that leads up to Soldier's Peak. Shadows flit from one tree to the next, and beyond them, just above the tips of the sheer ridges their fortress is nestled into, she can see the tallest buildings of Denerim.

Movement catches her eye at the bottom of the paths winding up to the keep. Rays of sunlight glint off of armor, and a mane of black hair and a thick beard is all that she can make out of the traveler's features. Narrowing her eyes, Bethany turns from the window and strides to the small chest she keeps her armor and tabard inside of.

No warning bells sound out as she dresses. Minutes later, there is a gentle, albeit insistent, knocking at her door. Bethany cinches her belt tightly around her waist. Gripping the handle, she pulls the door open and greets a stern face before her.

"Senior Warden," He rumbles out.

She feels her stomach tighten at the title. Whatever part she played in the defeat of Corypheus, it didn't warrant the honor. None of them knew the truth.

"Yes?" Bethany says, pursing her lips together as she peers past her fellow warden and down the corridors that he came from.

"Warden-Commander summons you. Make your way to the courtyards." Just as quickly as he had appeared, the man leaves her once more, slinking off down the hallway to the darkest shadows, still untouched by dawn.

Bethany peers over her shoulder back to the window one last time.

* * *

The brisk walk down to the courtyards does not take long. She pushes against the broad wooden doors with the help of another Warden and sees herself out onto the upper platform where the Commander awaits her, hands clasping behind his back as his eyes fixate on a point far away beyond the gates, somewhere lost in the trees.

"Commander," she murmurs.

It feels wrong to break the silence. Tiny snowflakes fall from the skies, too pitiful to make it to the earth before melting away. The birds begin to awake, but there is little more than stray, hesitant peeps from the ever greens.

"I've a third recruit for you," Khanir says. A man of extremely few words, the new commander took over after the Hero of Ferelden disappeared with no warning. Khanir doesn't bother to turn his face towards her. Bethany steps closer and folds her hands in front of her waist, staring out past the tree line to try and spot what it was her Commander was seeing. In Lothering, she met Chasind before, but never one so quiet and stoic as the Commander.

"Have their Joining complete within a fortnight." He turns from her as the silhouette of the traveler creeps into view, plodding up the final precariously twisting paths to their gates. She hears his horse snorting and huffing. Bethany waits until the bearded rider enters the courtyard and dismounts before she descends the stairs, padded boots not making a sound against the steps.

"Welcome, Ser," her brows furrow as she peers at his face. Something in his features is familiar to her, but she cannot place its origins, "What business have you at Soldier's Peak?" Her chin tips up gently.

"Greetings, M'lady, I've come to join the Wardens."

The skin around her eyes tightens as he says this. He states it as though it is nothing out of the ordinary, as though she might have asked him whether he enjoyed fishing and which lakes he frequented. Her stomach tightens. For a moment, she cannot think of what to say.

She dips her head once in acknowledgement of a very short, polite bow.

"You are welcome among us then. My name is Bethany Hawke. I'm a Senior Warden, and before the fortnight is over, I will prepare you and the other recruits," She steps back once as his horse stomps a foot irritably. She has never been around the beasts for long. The bearded man reaches up to get a better grip on his horse's reigns, forcing it to steady for a few moments longer.

"Apologies, M'lady, he's aching for the stables," the recruit pulls the corners of his mouth farther out to the side and looks off directly above her shoulder somewhat sheepishly, clearing his throat and shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"And yourself no doubt for a hot meal," she tries to smile, but fears it may look as forced as it is, "The stables are over there," Bethany raises her hand to point at the far side of the courtyard where a second larch archway is looms, "When you're finished with him, I will be waiting for you just beyond those doors," she nods back towards the platform at the top of the stairs.

"As you wish. I will not keep you long." He dips his torso to her once more in a tiny bow, then looks to his first destination.

"S-ser?" Bethany stops him hesitantly. The feeling of familiarity will not dissipate, and she knows not why, "What is your name?"

He opens his mouth to reply at first and then catches himself. She sees something pass through his eyes before he glances down at her boots.

"Thom Rainier, M'lady."


	2. Chapter 2 - Thom Rainier

**Chapter 2: Thom Rainier**

* * *

_'Soldier's Peak – less than a day's ride. Something dark in the woods. Can't place it.  
Everything is heavy.' _– Rainier's Journal. Deep lines mark out the next words.

* * *

He keeps her in his sights as he leads his horse to the stables. He remembers her face from Haven—back when her cheeks were worryingly gaunt, and when her eyes held little else but darkness. The surviving wardens in Orlais all bore the same look. He wishes that he had been there to help them. The tail of her tabard disappears into the keep, and Rainier continues on.

Perhaps it was for the best that he hadn't been taken along, despite how he had urged the Inquisitor.

They would have known his shame.

The smell of the stables eases the ache out of his bones, and the dark-haired man strides down the wide hall in the midst of the stalls, trying to find an empty one. Resident horses begin to chuff and nicker, peering out of their stalls at this new stranger and the latest addition to their herd. He looks over each of them appraisingly.

There is something in their eyes that isn't natural.

Frowning grimly at the unnerving feeling, Thom clears his throat and continues on. An open stall door is a welcome sight, and his mount is brazen enough to clop forward faster, tossing its head to try and free the reigns from Rainier's grasp.

He unsaddles his horse and rubs him down.

At the very least, one of them will make a home here.

* * *

When he enters the first hall, Rainier is both surprised and pleased by its compact size.

His eyes sweep the room with a practiced ease, eying the placement of stray benches along the walls, of statues of wardens of old, and more curiously an official notice so old and worn that he can only make out the word, 'Dryden' at the very end. His brow furrows.

A woman clears her throat, and Thom's back instantly straightens in response, his head snapping around at attention. Near the next door, the Senior Warden stands with two other men at her side, both of them appraising him suspiciously. He knows what they see. They see a man aging slowly, with a weather-beaten face, wrinkles that tell of too many years and hardships, and the beginning splashes of silver that will only grow far more prominent.

The youngest man shakes his head with disinterest, looking away once more.

Rainier strides towards the group and stop a few paces from them.

"Thom Rainier," he rumbles quietly. The eldest of the recruits then folds his hands behind his back and looks to Bethany for direction. The woman's eyes are on none of the three men. Thom follows her gaze as subtly as he can, glancing from the corner of his eye back to the parchment that still glares back at them from history, dangling stubbornly from the single nail that holds it to the boards. Dark eyes turn back to Bethany, and he sees her fingertips tracing along the inside of her opposite palm. She looks much older than she is, standing there, her eyes distant and miring in the past.

"It is an honor to be among you," he clears his throat and takes a step to the side, one broad shoulder effectively blocking Bethany's view from the mysterious slip.

Bethany blinks, and he feels her eyes settle on his face for a moment. They narrow so slightly he thinks he may be imagining it.

"The Warden Commander has expressed that the three of you are to undertake your Joining within the fortnight. Rainier, this is Gerald," she motions to the youngest recruit, "and this is Basar," the second is older than Gerald, perhaps in his early thirties. His skin is dark and stretches over high, prominent cheek bones and almond-shaped eyes.

"At least one of us might survive," Gerald mutters under his breath.

Thom can see Bethany's lips tighten at this, but she doesn't acknowledge the young man's comment. His eyes look again to see her thumb nail gently scratching the lengthy scar on her palm. The muscles at the corner of his jaw begin to flex. He remembers hearing of what happened in Orlais—of the desperate leap the Wardens took.

"Maker willing," she murmurs- her voice too soft for the occasion.

He finds himself squaring his shoulders again.

* * *

She takes them to a different courtyard. It is small and concealed within the keep itself, out behind an unsuspecting wooden door and against the sheer face of the cliffs—now home.

"This is not a Blight, but the Darkspawn remain a threat. Today you will demonstrate your martial capabilities. Basar, targets for your bow are over there." Bethany gestures to the far side of the courtyard, but the dark-skinned man she addresses merely looks at the large, stationary dummies with confusion. Without responding, Thom watches as the archer slink towards the weapon racks. He sees the man's brow wrinkle with distaste as he examines one of the bows.

Ultimately, Basar simply moves off to stand near the targets, looking uncomfortable and out of place.

"Gerald and," she hesitates, struggling to remember his name, "Rainier—select your practice weapons and spar, if you would, I would like to gauge your skill levels."

"As you say, M'lady."

"Yes'm," Gerald mumbles.

Rainier waits for Gerald to select his weaponry. The young man grabs one practice sword, hefts it, and then takes a second as well, confidence beginning to bloom inside of his chest. The older man's eyes flick down to the way his hands grasp the blades. He keeps his thumbs tucked behind his other fingers—a bad habit in desperate need of correction. Rainier bites his tongue and follows.

The wooden shield fits him nicely. He draws in a deep breath through his nose, and it fills his chest with a hint of purpose.

It feels good to be a part of something again.

Rainier stands across from Gerald with his practice weapons at the ready. The young man looks him over. For a moment, Rainier thinks he spies a hint of doubt, but it is gone in the same moment. The young man raises once of his practice blades in Thom's direction.

"Don't worry; I'll start you off slow, Pops." He says.

"As you say, Ser," Rainier manages not to sigh, but he can feel the corners of his mouth pulling out to the side with a grim sense of amusement. The youth still has not adjusted his thumb placement, and his stance makes it obvious that he has never received formal training. Thom readies himself, and when Gerald charges and swings the first sword, Rainier catches it with his shield. The second sword comes in from the side. Rather than directly parrying, the older recruit moves the flat side of his practice sword so that Gerald's hand cracks smartly against it.

A quick check with his shield sends the youth stumbling back.

"Again," Rainier says, "And move your thumbs."

Gerald's nose wrinkles, and Rainier watches his body tense before he charges forward again. This time, both swords are met by Rainier's shield, and the older man grunts as he pushes off, forcing the young man back again, as unrelenting as his namesake— The corner of his mouth twitches.

His name is Thom Ranier. His sword strikes Gerald on the wrist.

Thom Ranier. He blocks the young man's frustrated swing.

_Thom Rainier. _He breaks Gerald's thumb.


	3. Chapter 3 - As the Wolf Does

**Chapter 3: As the Wolf Does**

* * *

_"Hold still, Garrett!" Bethany huffs and wrestles with her older brother's arm to try and get to his hand, and the blackened bruising that splashes across his knuckles. Even at twelve years of age, Garrett is grim-faced and stern. She spits chewed elfroot and honey suckle into her palm and slathers it on his hand._

_"They called you Flame-Fingers," Garrett growls in a whisper._

_His shoulders quake with barely contained rage and his eyes remain on the alley in Lothering the other boy's dragged two of their unconscious friends into. Bethany's eyes follow for a moment, and the younger girl swallows as she returns her attention to his hand. It's swollen, and she knows it will pain him in the weeks to come. _

_"They're just stupid, I don't even listen to them," she tries to reassure her brother. Her lower lip quivers with frustration._

_"_I do_." He says._

_She doesn't remember a time when Garrett isn't angry._

* * *

Bethany folds her hands in front of her as she exits the chow hall. Gerald is an easy patient—mostly because he doesn't wish further damage to his pride. He refuses magic, but at the very least allows her to jerk his thumb back into proper alignment and strap one of their straighter spoons to the digit. He will be fine, but the new fellow, Rainier… she isn't so sure.

Her steps are silent as she walks through a low hanging archway. A hearth crackles in the corner, and a bulky shadow stretching across the far wall draws her attention.

Rainier sits on an overturned crate in front of the fire, elbows resting on his knees.

"How is he?" he doesn't look away from the fire.

"As stubborn as any man, I suppose," she says, eying a chair he has left empty, "Rainier, will you tell me what happened out the—"

"No."

Her brows arch and she stands just behind him, arms crossed. He doesn't flinch under her gaze, but she sees his shoulders slowly lowering. Whether it's shame, exhaustion, or defeat, she doesn't know. Bethany draws in a deep breath, looking up to the ceiling as though it would provide her with the answers that she needed.

"I won't ask you, then, but if I can't trust you in-"

He stands abruptly and turns to face her- taking deep offense. Undaunted, she stares directly back up at him. Her eyes narrow. Rainier struggles with something inside of himself before he dips his chin down to his chest, obscuring most of his face in shadow. The flesh around his eyes tightens.

"I understand, M'lady, I… will not let it happen again." He struggles with himself.

"I needed time, too…" she admits quietly. Bethany sees his eyes drift to her hands, and something unpleasant skitters up her spine. Did he know? She presses her lips together and clenches her jaw until her ears begin to ring. Quickly, she hides her hands within her robes, turning away from him.

"As you were," Bethany whispers shakily, turning to the nearest wooden door.

"M'lady—" Rainier's brow creases with worry, and his lips part to say more.

"No." She says.

* * *

Soldier's Peak does not have a chantry, and it does not have a Mother to lead them in worship.

Instead, the ancient fortress sports a small, decrepit alcove in the northern wing. She doesn't know how many other Wardens come here, or if they pray or curse the maker when they do, but there is something familiar about the way the dust creeps towards the small alter strewn with candles, only to be swept stubbornly away each time. A long-legged spider bobs up and down in the far corner, making a meal out of a baby moth.

Bethany lowers to her knees before the alter.

The heat from the candles washes back against her face, but the dim lighting does little to tell others _who _is in the alcove. She does not pray. Her prayers ended years ago. Bethany merely sits in the silence. Thin hands curl themselves into fists as they rest on her knees and Bethany slowly tips her chin up to look at the cracked, shadowy face of Andraste's statue.

Sometimes she wonders if her prayers were ever heard.

* * *

The bells for supper ring and the normally quiet keep is suddenly a mess of thundering footsteps and raised voices, every man and woman pouring from their rooms, studies, and armories. Bethany waits for most of the commotion to die down before she makes her way to the chow hall for the second time that day.

Each bench and table is packed with her brothers and sisters, and it seems Soldier's Peak has grown so full in capacity that some of the newer wardens are left to stand and hold their bowls in one hand while they scoop the latest questionable stew into their mouths with the other—somehow managing to speak all the while without a drop wasted.

She takes her bowl from the far counter and sweeps her eyes across the room to try and find her recruits.

Only Basar is present, and he stares back at her intently to draw her attention.

Her brow furrows.

"Where are the others?" she asks him as she stops in front of him. Basar's eyes glimmer in a peculiar way, almost reminiscent of the Dalish, but the odd looking man points in the direction of the same training courtyard they used earlier in the day.

"Rainier trains him. Hours now. After you left." He says, and then returns to his meal, his reasons for speaking exhausted.

Bethany's eyes bore holes into the wall. She sips half-heartedly at her stew.

* * *

The two men are exactly where Basar said they would be.

Gerald is drenched in sweat and stops to swipe the tail of his thin shirt across his forehead, his mouth parted in a heavy, ragged pant. She is too far to hear what her youngest recruit says to Rainier, but she recognizes the attentive expression he wears as he follows through with Rainier's instructions.

"Never over-extend yourself, it takes away your power and leaves you open to attack," Rainier's voice booms out, echoing in the courtyard. Since he has arrived, she hasn't heard him raise his voice beyond a gentle murmur. There is something far different about him, his shoulders high and his chest filled with purpose.

"Now, try again, and this time, keep your elbows closer. You don't use a shield, but you still need to guard."

Gerald nods his head eagerly, and even with a broken thumb, he spins around to crack his practice sword against Rainier's shield with a loud, resonating noise that she feels more than she hears. The older man nods his head with approval, but then gently taps the outside of Gerald's knee with his blade.

"A man once told me that to fight with two blades is to fight as the Wolf does—you must strike and move before the retaliation comes. Again, faster."

Another loud crack thunders out, but this time Gerald does his best to lunge to the side and away from Rainier's practice sword.

"Good!" Rainier praises him.

Bethany's head tilts to the side, but she does not remain unseen for long. Rainier looks up over Gerald's shoulder and watches her in turn while the younger man scratches his head to probe the veteran for further advice.

Rainier smiles at her.

Hesitantly, she returns it.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Darkness Inside

**A/N - I wasn't sober for any of this, sorry.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Darkness Inside**

_'Can't sleep. Air feels too thin, like the rifts. Keep hearing things. Tell myself it's just the Wardens. Won't ask.' – _Rainier's journal.

* * *

Soldier's Peak is different in the moonlight. Its stones tell a story that he doesn't know how to read, and as he walks along the ramparts, he can't help but feel the weight of his steps pressing back at him. There is a history here—one that he isn't sure he wishes to know. His breaths puff out in regular clouds, and he finds himself grateful for the thick beard covering his jawline.

"Hello?" He knows her voice.

Raising his head, Rainier ensures his steps are louder as he comes upon her. The Senior Warden leans against the low wall with her eyes turned in his direction.

"Apologies, M'lady, I didn't think to find anyone up here," He tucks his chin down towards his chest as he says this. She doesn't move from where she stands. She doesn't even say anything at first. Clearing his throat as the silence grows too much for him; Rainier takes a small step back and begins to turn to leave her in peace.

"Rainier—"Bethany stops him, "I—earlier, when I…" in the moonlight, he thinks he sees her swallow, but he can't be sure, "I was selfish, earlier, and I was not your leader in that moment. I didn't mean to offend you if I have, I… I'm sorry." She says.

Some part of him still wants to leave. Some part of him still finds 'sorry' too familiar. Some part of him doesn't think that he's prepared. Some part of him worries that he will only make it worse.

With his eyes lowered to her feet, Rainier steps closer to her. His steps are heavy when he wishes they were not. Turning once he stands beside her, Rainier gazes out across the high tops of the trees and the severe edges of the cliffs, down into the Ferelden countryside below.

"Sometimes even when we think we're ready, the sentiment comes far easier than the words behind it," he murmurs. Rainier doesn't look, but he feels her shifting beside him. She turns to look over the trees, as well. It's easier than seeing themselves in one another. "You tried," he adds, "For a complete stranger, you tried. It's more than I was willing to honor you with." He tries to imagine having that strength. He tries to imagine putting others before himself in all things, and not just when he has a sword in his hand.

"Do you think we ever will be? Ready?" She murmurs.

Her fingertips pace tracks across the top of the stone wall—how many times has she come here, seeking answers that he doesn't know how to give? She looks hopeful. He doesn't know if it pains him to see it flit across her face.

"You? Yes. You're a strong woman and a compassionate leader. Might even be a good one, too." He says. His shoulders bob once in a shrug, and he falls silent. He feels her eyes on him.

"I said 'We,'" Bethany reminds him quietly.

Rainier's chin tips down towards his chest and dark eyes sweep out across the nighttime sky and the way it meshes imperceptibly with the earth long before his eyesight should fade. The darkness creeps a little closer. He wonders how much of it has made it inside.

"I know," he says.

* * *

Her eyes follow him throughout the day, and he knows that she wonders, just as he does.

"Do they have women? The Darkspawn?" Gerald's question is hesitant, and the young man wrings his hands together. "Women become Tainted, too," there's something naïve and hopeful about the way his shoulders pinch themselves together, like a dog catching hint of a scent thought lost. Rainier's eyes look up to the Senior Warden along with the other recruits. He knows of Ghouls. He's seen a man sweat and rave.

"Some," Bethany says. Her lips tighten, and again he is left wondering.

"Darkspawn are the Great Evils of men," she turns to face one of the many bookshelves in Soldier's Peak's small library. The tomes smell musky and heady with secrets. Her fingertips run over several of the spines before she finally selects one smaller and newer than the rest. "One of the Heroes wrote this," she explains, retaking her seat in the study group she wrangles them into. He doesn't mind it. After so long spent pretending, learning the truth feels right.

"The same covetous lust that we can succumb to also haunts the Spawn. To answer your question, Gerald, yes—there are females among them… but not how you imagine them." Her eyes drift down to the tome in her lap, and Rainier watches her fingertip twitch before she opens the book. He can see the drawings inside even from where he sits across the circle.

"They need us," she says, "They need women."

She reaches a section roughly halfway through the book. Turning it in her lap, she holds it up for the three recruits to see. Gerald's face turns, and his shoulders droop down again. Basar stares in silence at the grisly drawing—something heavy pressing in on him. Rainier knows it isn't from fear.

"Have you ever worried that…?" Gerald doesn't finish. He doesn't need to finish.

"That I might become one?" Bethany lowers her chin so that she can look at the grotesque mountains of flesh and breasts stacked atop one another. He watches her consider fully sized Genlocks and Hurlocks crawling out of the massive womb, squelching with pus and other fluids. He sees something distant, longing, and regretful in her eyes.

"It's how I became a Warden. Were it not for my brother…" her lips curl tenderly around the word, "…I would have."

* * *

He tells himself that he doesn't mean to, but he finds her again atop the wall.

Again, he makes his steps louder as he approaches, and with the moonlight illuminating the top of the peaks, he knows that she smiles. He sees the dimples cut into her cheeks. Clearing his throat, Rainier finishes the walk towards her.

"Apologies, M'lady." He says.

"None required," she says.

The silence doesn't feel as oppressive this time. His eyes drift to look out across the tree tops, and he relishes the feeling of the crisp, cool night time air filling his lungs with each breath.

"I think he would have liked you," she says, "My Brother." Her eyelids droop lower, dark lashes obscuring whatever distant place her memories try to whisk her to. Her hands rest flatly on the wall. Her fingertips look raw, with nails chewed down to the quick.

"He would have thought you were an honest man." She sighs, and the barest of smiles pulls gently at the corners of her mouth at the thought of her long lost sibling.

He doesn't have the heart to correct her.

"You were close, you and your brother?" he says, if only to keep the smile on her face for a little longer. Something in it makes him think of happy times. He sees her hands fold together, and her eyes bore holes into the distant darkness.

"He loved me dearly," Bethany admits after several long minutes, still smiling softly, "I wish that I had been fair to him… Goodnight, Rainier." She turns from him and steps silently down the same path he came from.

He watches long after her boots have disappeared around the bend.

* * *

The nights don't feel as dark.

Sometimes they tell each other small things. She mentions the wishing well in Lothering, he tells her of a waterfall in the bannorn where the whitetails gather in the early morning. Sometimes he tries. A silent opening of the mouth, a breath held long overdue, and the defeated shake of his head.

And always, a hand on his shoulder.

"Sometimes I worry about what's inside. Whether it's full of something bad or just empty. Not sure what's worse." The words come slowly and stuttered, a garbled mess of intentions and _effort. _

"There's a darkness inside everyone," she says, "But there's good in you, too."

He doesn't know if he believes her, but he tries.


End file.
